The young man sat on the stool I'd offered him and folded his hands on the counter in front of himself casually. He stared at me unwaveringly with
piercing green eyes that held in them a kind of hardness that could only be acquired through pain. And I would know.
"So, as I explained in my letter, I need your help," he spoke smoothly, with a business-like tone that, for one less experienced than I, may have seemed
natural. I knew better. I noted the way his index finger twitched ever so slightly at the word 'need' and how he blinked out of his previous rhythm as he
began his statement.
He was good at hiding it, very good, but I could see his fear. He had every reason to be afraid, I knew what he was up against, what we were up
against. It wasn't this that made me feel strangely connected to him, fear was something everyone felt. No, it was the way he hid it, masterfully, like
something he'd practiced his whole life. Just like me, he'd changed to survive, to make it through life.
For a moment, I had second thoughts about my plans, but they were quickly chased away when I reminded myself that this boy, Daniel, was already
being hunted, there was no hope for him. At least this way he would not die needlessly.
This way, we could both be free.